Dress Blues
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: Yuri prepares for a celebration at the imperial palace at Flynn's request. Fluri one shot.
A/N: I miiiiight have made Flynn just a shade too sweet in this one. ^^;

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

* * *

The high collar of the thin, gray shirt was something Yuri wasn't sure he would get used to. It clung to his throat no matter how often he tried to stretch it out, and the hem of it was itchy against his skin. He tried to ignore it, pulling on a pair of dark pants a hair tighter than he was used to and boots over which went heavy, steel armor. That would have slowed him down in combat, but he wasn't anticipating anything much more strenuous that evening than possibly the need for a quick getaway. The jacket was next, a decorative thing with long sleeves and a short body that was cutaway in the front, its fancy hem trimmed in gold thread. There was a belt, of sorts. It clipped to his pants and trailed a short cape a little past his knees.

"Did he have Judy help design this?"

He tugged at the unnecessary fall of fabric, twisting to try and get a look at how it draped behind him. Repede was watching from the foot of the bed and didn't have an answer.

Yuri made a face. The whole outfit was too showy. Normally, he wasn't fussy about his clothes. As long as he could move around in them, then he was all right. This was different, though. He wasn't right for it. Standing in the middle of his own room in the Lower Quarter where he'd grown up, the clothes left him feeling strangely out of place and he hated the feeling.

"It's not like it really matters what I wear, right?"

Repede groaned.

"Flynn isn't going to care. He knows I don't like getting dressed up, and he's the one who invited me." He made the mistake of meeting Repede's stare and relented. "Maybe if I tie up my hair," he grumbled.

He heard boots on the stairs only a minute before Flynn let himself in.

"Yuri, I came to be sure you were…ready."

"Almost."

He finished with tying his hair back and glanced up to see the surprised little 'o' of Flynn's mouth confirming his suspicions. He must look like a complete idiot, wearing clothes cut to resemble the uniform of a knight. After some of the things he'd done, it was a mockery to be standing before Flynn wearing the outfit.

"Or not." He grinned. "That bad? Hope you didn't spend too much—"

Flynn shook his head, eyes wandering all up and down Yuri's body as he took a quick step forward. "No. No, no. It's not bad. Not bad at all." His gaze finally met Yuri's. "Why would you think that?"

His shrug was studiedly casual. "It's not really me."

He kept mostly still, turning only his head as Flynn circled him. A brush of fingertips low on his side turned into the warmth of a hand pressed into the small of his back as Flynn swung around and brought them close together. He still had that look on his face, something closer to wonder than shock and Yuri kissed him to blot it out, still not entirely comfortable with Flynn looking at him as if he was the amazing one. It had only been about a year ago that he'd finally managed to beat Flynn in a fight. Since then, he'd been keeping busy with guild work, seeing the world while Flynn stayed home and cleaned up the messes left to him by a corrupt generation and an averted apocalypse.

Flynn's fingers, gloved in silk rather than gauntleted, brushed softly over his cheek. Again, he wished to shed the constricting garments he'd only donned for Flynn's sake, but his reasons were far different from what they had been only moments ago. It was too warm, much too warm, and yet he felt in danger of freezing everywhere their bodies weren't pressed close together. The heat of their kisses made him shiver, left him greedy and grasping for more. Those silk gloved fingers trailed down past his chin, down his neck, down to the top of that horrible high collar and drew it away from his throat. Flynn's lips followed his fingers like the fulfillment of a vow.

"I wish you could see yourself as I do," he whispered into Yuri's skin. The kiss that followed was as soft as his voice. "I wish I was the mirror you saw yourself in."

His hands fell away, moving to slip beneath that thin shirt, pressing over Yuri's stomach and sides and sending a needy shudder through him at the feel of that warmth kept from him in its fullness by a pair of dress gloves. With a gasp, Yuri managed to pull away, enough to free his head of the heat haze that fogged his thoughts when Flynn caressed him. He was clutching his lover still, anchored, Flynn's hands settled high on his hips, both of them so reluctant to let go. They would never be free of each other and that thought was both a comfort and, occasionally, a burden to Yuri's doubting mind.

"Think it's only fair to warn you…."

It was hard to remember what he meant to say. Their lips met once, twice, an ellipsis of kisses as he tried to gather his thoughts. How long had it been that he should be so easily undone? Flynn's thumbs rubbed circles over his skin, the touch of the silk between them an odd sensation. Dress clothes. Right.

"Not putting this back on if you end up peeling it off of me."

There was a groan in Flynn's laugh, soft and resigned. With the next lingering kiss, with the tug that brought their hips flush together, Yuri thought for a brief moment that he'd won, that Flynn would cast aside those deceptive layers he'd clothed himself in, that they would spend the evening making love in Yuri's creaky old bed, rather than making conversation with the other guests at the celebration in the palace. His luck had never been so good, however, and Flynn stepped reluctantly back.

"I got here early, but not that early."

He reached out to touch Yuri's face and thought the better of it, smiling apology over his victory against temptation. When he offered his hand, it was for Yuri to hold, an invitation, an offer of escort.

"Later?"

There came a little tremble, a slight thrill of anticipation that traveled from Flynn's hand to his at the question. Desire and promise tightened his grip as he nodded. Yuri picked up his sword, like as not unnecessary, but unthinkable to leave it behind, and they set out into the city, Repede trotting along ahead on the moonlit road to the palace.


End file.
